The Only Way
by Alone in the Desert
Summary: Teenaged Tris and her ahem sexual fantasies. Yeah, you read right. I felt like being original.
1. The Only Way

Disclaimer: All characters and locations owned by Tamora Pierce. Plot-line and actual written words are owned by myself.
    The Only Way 

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His back was turned to her, and a shiver ran down her spine; she knew he was crying, and he didn't want her to see. She'd cried, too, till her throat was raw and her voice raspy, but now she wasn't crying. She was looking at him, his pride, refusing even to acknowledge what they both knew. It was ridiculous of him to turn his back on her – she was inside his mind. Still, she sat and waited for the realization to sink in him, for him to come to terms with it. Like she knew he would, once he came to terms, he faced her. They'd been four, but Daja, and now Sandry, were dead. 

They stood and looked at each other. As much as they both loved words, none, spoken or unspoken, could express their grief. The silence weighed heavy before finally she broke it by holding out her arms to him. He accepted her embrace, and things just went on from there… And that was the only way it could happen. For years they'd been united in mind, and it had been utterly impossible, even if the idea of touching had occurred to them. But their sorrow did the impossible and brought together their bodies. Now, with Daja and Sandry both gone from their lives, it seemed only natural. 

Tris leapt out of bed and ran across the small room to the wide-open window, half-throwing herself out of it. The room was too close and stuffy, her own flesh warm, flushed and almost feverish. She gasped for fresh, cold air, trying to bring it into her lungs to clear her mind. She just _had_ to stop thinking like that! Nothing in this world could make her wish for Sandry and Daja's deaths, _nothing_! Certainly not something like _that_. The door creaked open, and she turned back hastily and, to her mind, guiltily. In the doorway stood a sleepy Daja in a white nightshirt, rubbing her eyes. 

"What's wrong, Tris?" she asked softly. 

"Nothing," replied Tris stubbornly, shaking her head and holding her cotton nightgown away from her body. 

"I can tell you're upset, merchant-girl," remarked Daja, stretching lazily and yawning. 

"It's the heat," Tris said with dismissal and turned back to the open window. Daja shook her head, muttering something in Tradertalk about crazy weather witches, and went back to her room across the attic. A sigh of relief erupted from Tris, though she hadn't exactly lied. She just couldn't bear the thought of her closest friends knowing she had thoughts like that about Briar… or anyone, for that matter. And it wasn't like she was in love with him, or anything! She couldn't control it. Being seventeen was just so hard. 


	2. Fire and Steam

Disclaimer: All characters and locations owned by Tamora Pierce. Plot-line and actual written words are owned by myself. 

Fire and Steam 

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Water that had been cold a moment ago sizzled and boiled around the red-hot iron, blowing up clouds of damp steam. Between the steam and the burning forge fire, the smithy was swelteringly hot. Just standing in the doorway, she could feel the heat pressing on her face and body, as tangible and solid as wood or stone. The smith stood up and turned away from his work to look at her. Their eyes met. He crossed the short but tension-filled distance between them, and soon the heat was rising even more. Tiny water cyclones started forming in the condensing mist around them, spinning all through the workshop. 

"Do you need something, Tris? I should really get back to work. These horseshoes are pretty urgently needed." 

"Daja isn't here?" asked Tris. 

Kirel shook his head. 

"Lark sent me to call her for lunch," she added, rather pointlessly, to cover up her embarrasement. 

"I think she left already," said Kirel. 

"Oh," Tris said. "I should probably get back, then." 

"Tris, is everything alright?" Kirel asked, frowning. 

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?!" cried Tris furiously, pulling on her curls, and stomped out of the overheated smithy. No, everything was _not_ alright. Not when she was losing control like this. Losing control over her magic was one thing, Niko had taken troubles to teach her how to deal with situations like that. No one ever said anything about how to regain control of her imagination… Flushed, Tris stopped at a well along the way and splashed some cold water from the bucket on her face. 

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Coppercurls, are you coming? Daja's already here. The feeling of Briar's voice inside her mind almost made Tris jump. _Yes, I'm on my way_, she replied tartly. More flushed than ever, she washed her face and neck again and started back to Discipline. A sudden realization made her stop just in front of the gate and stand stock still, horrified. Oh, Shurri Firesword, I hope whatever this is passes before Niko comes back to Winding Circle! she thought. 


	3. The Bathhouse

Disclaimer: All characters and locations owned by Tamora Pierce. Plot-line and actual written words are owned by myself.
    The Bathhouses 

Not even being seventeen, an age notoriously awkward and self-conscious, could inhibit Sandry's natural confidence. She washed in the public baths, just as she had every day since arriving at Discipline. Tris glimpsed her slipping into the round pool of hot water as she stepped behind a standing wooden screen to where a small, single tub stood, out of the public eye. It had not taken her more than a few months to feel comfortable with Winding Circle's bathhouse arrangements, but somewhere around the age of fifteen, she just couldn't bring herself to bathe with the other female dedicates anymore. She couldn't seem to put the reason in words. Lark had nodded in understanding and reinstated the original arrangement Daja and she had used when they were new. 

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She heard footsteps on the damp stone floors and could see someone's feet underneath the lower rim of her screen of privacy. The bathhouse was quiet but for the hushed sounds of washers splashing and dripping water, and the more subtle sounds of many people breathing. When the pair of bare legs bellow the screen reached the opening and walked into her little bathing niche, she drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees to cover herself. The intruder was familiar and friendly, but she wasn't at ease. 

The figure dipped a hand into the warm bath-water and then drew it out, watching the water trickle down her arm and between her fingers, not looking at her. "There's an empty booth next door," the bather said, almost casually. Then the intruder met her eyes. They paused. Electricity seemed to gather in the air as the stare held. "Why would you want a private bath, anyway?" asked the bather softly, breaking the loaded silence. "Things change," answered she. "Maybe now I want a little privacy, like you. With you." 

But the damp legs passed by her little booth without event, except maybe a low mutter in Tradertalk about the bather's general and specific eccentricities. Shutting her eyes as tightly as she could, Tris sank under the water's surface, letting it dim even the faint sounds around her. She stayed under until she found her breath short, then surfaced, splashing carelessly on the already-damp stone tiles of the floor. "I've lost my mind," she said to herself. At least she didn't dream of Sandry and Briar's deaths. 


	4. Lark

Disclaimer: All characters and locations owned by Tamora Pierce. Plot-line and actual written words are owned by myself. 

Lark 

Lark was weaving a soft-looking rug from some sort of fleecy yarn when Tris walked in. Feigning nonchalance, she examined the warm colors and rounded shapes stretched on the loom. She was so distracted by her pretence it was a moment before she noticed Lark had stopped her work and was looking at her. 

"I was meaning to take a break, anyway," she said with a smile. "Why don't you sit and join me?" 

Tris sat obediently. 

The silence was brief, and then Tris spoke. "Have you ever felt like you couldn't control your own mind?" she asked Lark. 

"Often," answered Lark in her reassuring voice, "and not just when I was your age." 

"You mean it's not going to get any better?" Tris almost wailed. 

"It'll get better," said Lark, "but, knowing you, never quite good enough." 

Tris picked at a fingernail stub. "It's just, my mind is all that's really worth anything in me – " she confessed, but Lark cut in uncharacteristically. 

"You _know_ that's not true." 

Tris hesitated. "All the same, I hate this feeling of it running away from me, dragging me to places I have no interest in going to." 

"That's perfectly understandable," Lark replied. 

"So what do I do? Just weather it out?" Tris asked with a distressed frown. 

"I'm afraid there's little more you _can_ do, and next to nothing I can do for you," said Lark sympathetically. 

Tris was halfway up the stairs to the roof before it dawned on her that she'd not told Lark a word about the nature of the unbridled thoughts that were burdening her mind. She smiled. Having someone she could trust without exposing the cause of her embarrassment was a great relief. 


End file.
